


(Not) Alone

by GinnyLily



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt, The Drug Den Scene, The Tarmac Scene, Underage Drug Use, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyLily/pseuds/GinnyLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock never minded being alone. He never had any friends and he was fine with that. Well, almost. Once doesn't count. But then he met John Watson and he suddenly had a friend. Until he lost him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take the warnings seriously. I had to split this in half because it was so long. The second part will be posted on Tuesday, February 9th. I'm a little bit nervous to post this because I've never written anything like this before. Feedback (positive as well as constructive criticism) is appreciated! SPOILERS for "The Abominable Bride"

It was the night after the divorce. John was back at Baker Street, currently lying in bed and thinking. This had been the best decision of his life. Well, actually it was just correcting the terrible mistake he'd made. Why did he ever think he wanted to marry Mary? It was because he thought he'd lost Sherlock, he told himself, smiling at the thought of his...lover.

Following a sudden desire John got up, left his room and gently knocked at Sherlock's bedroom door.

“Yes?” The other man's voice sounded muffled through the door. John turned the doorknob and peeked inside. The lights were turned off but he still saw the dark figure on the bed, now popped up onto his elbows.

“John?”

“Yeah, it's me.” John cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

“What are you doing here?” He could imagine the confused look on Sherlock's face. And to some extent he understood that confusion. It was his first night back, the first night after he divorced Mary, surely Sherlock didn't expect him to want to start a new relationship already. Except that he wanted.

“I, uh...was just thinking...hm, maybe...you wanted some company?,” John blurted out and immediately blushed – something Sherlock couldn't see of course. John half expected his friend to be even more confused and to send him away, when -

“Sure...why not.”

“I'm sorry?!” John was so surprised by this response, he thought he'd heard it wrong.

“I said 'sure, why not'. Come in and close the door, please.”

John did as he was told, finding himself awkwardly standing in the middle of Sherlock's dark bedroom when the other man shifted on the bed. “Come here.”

John could feel his face getting even hotter when he hesitantly sat down at the edge of Sherlock's bed and – gathering courage – finally got his feet onto the bed as well. He could feel Sherlock throwing the blanket over him and turning to face John. “Don't you want to lay down?”

“I...uh, sure...” He slid down awkwardly until he was stretched out next to his flatmate, facing him. Sherlock nodded contentedly and then turned to face the ceiling again.

After a long and awkward pause, Sherlock whispered: “You know, I've missed you, John.”

John took a deep breath. “I've missed you too, Sherlock.”

***

It was true, he had missed John. A lot. He'd come back from his two year stay in Eastern Europe, only to discover that John had not only left Baker Street but that he'd also found himself a _woman_. A _woman_ he then proceeded to marry. A _woman_ , whose child he was waiting for. A _woman_ that almost killed Sherlock, who was now living alone again. He had told himself he didn't mind.

He had never minded living alone, being alone. At least that's what he wanted to believe. He was busy all the time, solving crimes, helping the police or some poor fellow, not eating, not sleeping for days on end. He kept himself alive by taking a mixture of drugs, mostly cocaine and nicotine and when he wasn't working, he took them out of boredom. What was there to do if one wasn't working? You had to keep your mind busy after all.

And then he'd met John. He liked the ex-army doctor from the first moment on, even allowed him to keep him company on his cases. But John was not only around when Sherlock was working. He was around all the time. He was there when Sherlock woke up, when he had breakfast, lunch, dinner and when he went to sleep at night. Sure, Mrs Hudson had been around before as well, but it was something entirely different to have somebody actually upstairs with him, filling the tiny flat, bringing _life_ to it. For the first time in his life Sherlock realised that he didn't need anything to keep himself occupied when there was somebody around to talk to. Or even just to sit down with.

On their first case John had asked him whether he had a girlfriend, to which he replied with 'no', or a boyfriend, to which he said 'no' as well. Sherlock had never thought of having a partner to be a necessity. He didn't even have friends (aside from his brother, maybe), what would he need a companion, to which he felt a romantic or even sexual attraction, for? But having John around had shown him that human company could actually be something truly wonderful. He had never felt like this before, not ever in his life. He hadn't taken any drugs while John was around, he had realised he didn't need them.

But then he had to fake his death in order to protect the only people he really cared for, most of all his faithful and only friend Dr John Watson. And when he came back to the empty flat in Baker Street he realised that the apartment wasn't the only thing that was empty. Knowing that John wouldn't move back in with him, would spend most of the time with his fiancée, Sherlock got back into his old habits. Solving crimes, keeping himself occupied and taking drugs whenever he needed them. Which was quite often. Too often, he knew that. He had to leave John's wedding early because he couldn't bare seeing his old friend with the woman he apparently loved. He gave his best man speech, stayed long enough to save a life and then left, went back to Baker Street and looked for his morphine supply. He didn't intend to harm himself. Just to forget the pain, this horrible, horrible pain, for a while. The pain he always felt when he remembered that John had found somebody else.

“I couldn't live without you,” Sherlock sighed, still looking at the ceiling. He could feel John staring at him but he couldn't turn his head to look at him. Sherlock's eyes were itching, undoubtedly because he'd been keeping them open without blinking for too long. He blinked. His eyes still itched. “I'm so glad you came back.”

“Me too, Sherlock. Me too.” John's voice was barely a whisper.

“I was...so...so alone...” Sherlock blinked, slightly confused. Did these words just come out of _his_ mouth? And why wouldn't his eyes stop itching? He lifted his hands and rubbed them, trying to scratch the itch away.

“Are you okay?” John was still whispering.

“No...my eyes...they don't feel okay.”

“Have you...taken anything?” John sounded insecure. They had never talked about Sherlock's habits. Up until two months ago John didn't even know about the drugs.

But Sherlock shook his head. “No, nothing. Not since...that day.”

“Maybe you've been watching TV for too long. Or reading.” He sounded cheerful but it was a fake sound, like John wasn't really feeling cheerful at all.

They were silent for a while, Sherlock's eyes kept itching.

“Why have you never told me?,” John finally asked. “About...the drugs?”

Sherlock hesitated, then he replied with a quite voice: “I was scared you might be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?”

“You were. In my mind palace you were angry. You were shouting at me.”

“But Sherlock, that was just in your mind palace! In your _head!”_

“Mhm.” Silence again. Then Sherlock finally asked: “Have you ever been alone, John?”

“You mean like...really alone?”

“Yes.”

“No...I don't think so,” John said after hesitating for a moment.

“It's not nice.”

“I -”

“It feels terrible. But you can't do anything. You just... _exist_ while everyone around you _lives_. You're there but not really, you're awake but not really, you do things but you don't really want to. You see people being happy while you feel so empty -”

“Sherl-,” John tried again but Sherlock ignored him and kept talking.

“- and alone. John, you have no idea what it's like to have nobody to talk to. And it's good that you don't know it. Because I don't want anybody to feel like this. To feel like I did when -”

“When?,” John asked carefully when Sherlock stopped.

“...when you left,” Sherlock whispered. His eyes were more than itchy now, they were _burning_. He could feel his body tremble, suddenly he felt hot and cold at the same time. Was he getting ill? What was he even talking about? Where was he going with this? But for some reason he couldn't stop. “And once before, the first time I -” But he interrupted himself and rubbed his eyes again.

“The first time you what?,” John asked gently.

“The first time Mycroft found me.” Sherlock's voice was so quiet, he could barely hear himself talking. He had never told to anyone about this, never spoken to Mycroft about what had happened but now he couldn't resist the sudden urge to tell John everything.

“I was young, still in school. God, I must have been about fifteen, sixteen maybe. I've never had any friends, what would I need them for? I was happy spending time by myself and occasionally playing a game of chess with my brother. But that day I realised something. I don't know what the trigger was, maybe some topic came up at school. I realised that I was all alone, never talking to anyone if I didn't have to, never meeting up with other kids after school, never being invited anywhere. The part of my life that had always been my favourite was suddenly the worst. I realised that even if I wanted, no one would want to spend time with me.

My peers would go out after school, they would sit together during break time; laughing, talking, while I usually sat by myself, reading a book. And on that day I realised that this would be my life, that nobody would ever want to spend time with “the weird kid”, the one who knew the answer to every question, who was just so annoyingly smart, a total know-it-all. Of course I knew about drugs. I knew what they are made of, what illusions and feelings they trigger or stop and how dangerous they are to the human body and mind. On that day I researched how to get them. Don't get me wrong, I never wanted to take an overdose but what does a fifteen-year-old know about himself, about how much his body can take?

All I managed was to write down what I'd taken. Mycroft knew were I was usually going when I needed time for myself. After I hadn't come home for dinner he went to look for me. He found me, collapsed on an old and dirty mattress in an even older and dirtier abandoned house. I can barely remember it, it hurt so much, it was so awful and I was so, _so_ scared. I didn't mean to overdose and with time I've learned when to stop. But that night I didn't know. I didn't want to die. And I was even more alone. I was lying on a dirty floor in an old, abandoned house, all by myself, using only candles as a light source and it did not feel good. When Mycroft found me it was almost too late. I can barely remember it...

 

_I'm gonna die. I know it. I will die here. Alone. In pain. So much pain. And scared. No one will ever know what happened. They will find my body in a few days. My parents will blame themselves for what happened. And Mycroft. He will be devastated. But I won't be there anymore. Because I'm alone and I will die here. I'm alone, just like I've always been. Now I must also die alone._

_It hurts. It hurts so much. Why can't it stop. My stomach, why is it doing that?_

“ _Sherlock! Oh god, Sherlock, what have you done!”_

_A loud voice, footsteps running towards me, someone sitting down next to me._

“ _Sherlock!” Someone shaking me by the shoulders. “Sherlock, can you hear me??”_

_This is only an illusion. A hallucination. Caused by the drugs. And the pain. So much pain._

“ _Sherlock! Please talk to me! Sherlock, no! Say something, please!”_

_The list, I've written a list. There is a list._

“ _Sherlock, please!”Someone is crying. “Sherlock, it's me, Mycroft! Please, Sherlock, talk to me!”_

_I can't, it hurts so much. Let it be over, please. I want to die. I want this to end. My heart is racing. So fast. It will break my ribs and jump out of my chest. It hurts; why does it hurt so much?_

“ _Sherlock!!”_

_The voice is loud in my head. It hurts. Everything hurts. I'm feeling sick. My stomach cramps but there is nothing in there. It's so cold and yet I'm sweating. Why can't I breathe?_

“ _Sherlock, it will be okay, I promise! I'm here now. Just talk to me; please talk to me.”_

_I don't want to die. I'm scared. So, so scared._

“ _Sherlock, hold on. Do it for me. Please, Sherlock, hold on!”_

_This isn't him, he isn't here. I'm alone. This is only the drugs. This is only an illusion. I don't deserve this. I deserve to die alone. It's not my brother it can't be._

_But what if it is? Make it stop, Mycroft, help me it hurts, it hurts so much. And I can't breathe. Where are you? Why don't you help me? Why does it hurt so much?_

_I can't breathe, Mycroft._

_I can't see._

_My heart._

_I'm so cold._

_Please help._

_It hurts. Everything. Hurts._

 

Then I passed out and woke up in a hospital, three days later. I wasn't dead. Mycroft had found the list and carried me outside. When people had seen the two of us on the street, me unconscious in my brother's arms, they had immediately called an ambulance. Mycroft had refused to leave my side and he was also the first person I saw when I woke up. He made me promise to never do that again. And when I did it again I wrote a list, just like the one that saved my life the first time.”

 

-

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is here! I hope you like it. Again, please take the warnings seriously. The Tarmac Scene (especially the dialogue) is obviously not mine; it belongs to the BBC.

John was in shock. He could feel tears building in his eyes and quickly cleared his throat. Since he'd learned that Sherlock apparently had a drug problem he was unsure of how to treat him anyway. But learning  _this_ , when it all started didn't make it any easier.

Sherlock continued. “It happened a lot. It wasn't always an overdose. But after a year's break I tried it again, less this time. And it worked. I was feeling better, happier. I could think better, had a clear mind. It helped me on a lot of cases. Mycroft never approved but he was always there when I've written a list. I didn't always need a list. Lists were only for when I'd taken too much. People didn't notice when I was high, not even my brother. Not even you on our first meeting. And why didn't you notice it later, when we lived together, you ask? Because I didn't need it then. I didn't need to take anything while you were around. I wasn't alone then.”

John swallowed hard. He knew where this was going.

“But then I had to jump off that hospital and vanish for two years. And I was alone again. And when I finally came back, you weren't there. Worse, you had replaced me.”

“I didn't -”

“I lived in London again, in our old flat but without you. Painful memories, John. When I woke up and had breakfast I expected you to get out of bed. When I was playing the violin I expected you to read a newspaper. When I was going to bed I said 'good night' to an empty chair. I was alone again and this time it was worse than ever before. Because this time I wasn't just “the weird kid” that was always alone. This time, I actually had somebody but I'd lost them. And losing you was worse than never knowing you. So I started again. I was high all the time. I barely slept and almost took too much before your wedding. I certainly overdosed the night after. I wrote a list.”

Sherlock paused for a second but John was unable to say anything. If he'd known, if he'd only known...

“Remember Magnussen? Remember how I shot him? Remember the day, about two months ago when I shot him? Remember the verdict? Remember the plane I had to board? And the moment we said our goodbyes? I knew I would never see you again, John. And I knew I would be alone again. Forever. I didn't want that.”

“Sherlock.” This time, John wasn't interrupted. But he didn't know how to continue. “You overdosed on purpose?,” he finally asked, facing the ceiling. “To kill yourself?”

“Yes.” It was a short and simple word, spoken without anger, without accusing John. But it broke John's heart. His best friend had planned to kill himself because he knew he was never going to see him again. John knew that Sherlock had been reading his blog on the plane, that he was remembering all their adventures together. If Moriarty hadn't turned up, if they hadn't stopped the plane, Sherlock would be gone now.

 

_He is watching Sherlock as he says goodbye to Mary. Sherlock is smiling but his eyes tell a different story._

“ _Since this is likely to be the last conversation I’ll have with John Watson would you mind if we took a moment?” After hesitating for a few seconds Mycroft nods and he, Mary and the security guard walk to the plane._

_John smiles, even though he doesn't feel like smiling at all. Smiling is an expression of happiness and he is definitely not feeling happy._

“ _So, here we are.” He steps closer, not as close as he would like to, though._

“ _William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Sherlock says, still standing upright, his hands folded behind his back._

“ _Sorry?” John is confused. 'What did Sherlock mean by that?'_

“ _That’s the whole of it. If you're looking for baby names.” John chuckles, he can't help it. 'Oh this man is ridiculous!'_

“ _No, we’ve had a scan. We’re pretty sure it’s a girl,” he says then, even though his heart starts beating faster at the thought of naming his child after his best friend._

“ _Oh,” Sherlock smiles. “Okay.”_

_John can't look at him. Not now. Not with his heart almost exploding in his chest. 'How could this ever happen? Why did they let it get this far?'_

“ _Yeah.” John turns around, pointing vaguely into the distance. He doesn't know what to do. “Actually, I can’t think of a single thing to say.” He looks up at Sherlock again._

_The other man isn't looking at him as he mumbles: “No, neither can I.” Sherlock's breath sounds heavy, painful, forced._

_John steps closer. He doesn't know what to say or do, so he just says: “The game is over.”_

_Sherlock quickly looks up, staring directly into John's eyes. “The game is never over, John but there may be some new players now.” He looks so worn, so tired. “It’s okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end.” He looks away, across the field._

“ _What’s that?”_

“ _It’s a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path,” Sherlock replies, still looking into the distance. “It seeks out the unworthy,” Sherlock looks back at John, “and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me.”_

“ _Nice.” What else could he say? His doesn't trust his voice anymore._

“ _He was a rubbish big brother.” Looking away again. His smile looks forced and John's isn't natural either._

_John clears his throat, still not trusting his voice. He looks down. “So what about you, then?” Glancing up into Sherlock's face he adds: “Where are you actually going now?” He doesn't really want to know. He doesn't want to hear what will happen to his friend, whom he most likely will never see again. He has a hard time choking back his tears._

“ _Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe.”_

“ _For how long?” 'Keep it together, John!'_

_Sherlock doesn't look at him. “Six months, my brother estimates. He’s never wrong.”_

“ _And then what?”_

“ _Who knows?” Sherlock shrugs._

_John nods, swallows. 'Don't lose control, John. Not now.' He takes a deep breath, doesn't look at Sherlock._

_After a pause, Sherlock mumbles: “John, there’s something I should say, I-I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.”_

_'I love you, god dammit, say it Sherlock! Tell me that you love me! Tell me! I can't, I can't tell you, I'm not strong enough but you -'_

“ _Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.”_

_John can't look at him. He forces himself to laugh again, even though this isn't funny. Not at all. “It’s not.”_

_Sherlock smiles weakly. “It was worth a try.”_

“ _We’re not naming our daughter after you.” Not because he doesn't want to but because it would be too painful to be reminded of Sherlock every single day for the rest of his life._

“ _I think it could work.” He can see the sadness in Sherlock's face, the same sadness that he feels. 'Don't break down now, not now. Not in front of him. Be strong, for him.'_

_Sherlock takes off his right glove and stretches his hand out for John to take. John flinches slightly and stares down at the hand._

“ _To the very best of times, John.”_

_'Is this how it ends?' He takes Sherlock's hand and shakes it, smiling weakly. 'Hug him, John, you have to hug him!' But he doesn't, he can't bring himself to it. He hopes Sherlock will go now because he can't do this for much longer. The other man lets go of his hand and turns around. 'Breathe, John, breathe.'_

_When Sherlock enters the plane, John can feel his heart break. It shatters into thousands of tiny little pieces that could never be repaired. 'It's over,' he tells himself._

_When he watches the plane taking off he is holding Mary's hand. It is not a comfort for him. He knows he has lost everything and he doesn't know how to go on from here. A single tear rolls down his face but he quickly wipes it away. 'Not in front of her.' But a gentle squeeze of her hand tells him that she knows._

 

“Have you been high when we said goodbye on the tarmac?”

“I overdosed on the plane.”

“But did you take something before?”

“John...” Sherlock sighed, not meeting John's eyes in the dark. “I've been constantly high since I came back, since you had left Baker Street.”

John swallowed hard. “And...when we stood there...what did you actually want to say? You didn't want to make me believe that Sherlock's a girl's name, did you?”

***

Now it was Sherlock's turn to swallow. He remembered telling himself to finally talk to John.

 

“ _Where are you actually going now?”_

_Far, far away. “Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe.”_

“ _For how long?”_

_He can't look at John.“Six months, my brother estimates. He’s never wrong.”_

“ _And then what?”_

“ _Who knows?” He shrugs. He doesn't plan to live that long. Actually he doesn't plan to survive the landing. He has everything that he needs. He will end it, today. Once and for all. But before that he needs to tell John. If he won't ever see him again, won't live for very much longer, he might as well say it._

“ _John, there’s something I should say, I-I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.” 'I love you.' That's all he wants to say. But he can't. So instead he says: “Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.”_

_John laughs.“It’s not.”_

_He has to force himself to a weak smile.“It was worth a try.” He doesn't mean the name situation._

 

“No.”

“What was it then?”

Sherlock sighed. “John, I...I can't do this anymore. I can't be alone anymore. I don't think...I don't want to -”

“Sherlock, what did you want to say?”

His eyes were burning like fire now. He blinked and then he could feel the tears coming to the rescue, saving his eyeballs from burning.

“John, I -” His voice broke and he started sobbing. He couldn't remember himself crying. Not ever. Not even on the plane. Maybe on the roof?

***

“Sherlock!” John felt helpless. What was he supposed to do? Sherlock had never cried in his presence before. “Sherlock...it's okay.” He slowly reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's arm. When the other man didn't draw back John moved closer, hesitantly pulling Sherlock into a tight hug. He could feel Sherlock burying his face in his shoulder, shaking and sobbing.

“I'm here, Sherlock.”

“I can't take this anymore,” Sherlock cried into John's t-shirt. “I don't want to live anymore.”

“Sherlock, please. It's okay. I'm here.”

“But if you leave -”

“I won't, I promise.” John could feel his own eyes tearing up but he told himself once more to be strong. For Sherlock. “I'm not leaving ever again. I'm here. Shh, it's okay. I'm here...”

“I don't want to be alone anymore. I can't take it.”

“You don't have to be alone. I'm here. And I'm not leaving. Sherlock, I -” John hesitated. Was it the right thing to do? “Sherlock, I...I love you!”

For a long moment, a few agonising seconds nothing happened. Sherlock's face was still hidden and he kept shaking.

“I love you too, John,” he finally replied, his voiced sounding slightly muffled. Sherlock slowly lifted his head. “You'll stay?”

“I love you,” John said again, gently squeezing Sherlock's arm. “And I will stay with you. You won't be alone again.”

Sherlock hiccuped. John smiled weakly. “Promise me something?”

“Hm?” Sherlock hiccuped again.

“You need to come clean.”

Sherlock sniffled and laid his head back down. “I don't know how.”

John smiled and gently pressed his lips to Sherlock's temple. “I'll help you. I'll stay with you. You don't have to do this alone. You won't ever have to be alone again.”

Sherlock nodded, still hiccuping.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Sherlock hiccuped. “Doctor Watson?,” he then asked.

“Yes?”

“What can I do against hiccups?”


End file.
